Psychosomatic
by MischaPallasAthenaKitsune
Summary: Toad secretes a psychedelic drug when he sweats. One teammate becomes addicted.
1. Chapter 1

AN: I don't own X-Men.

* * *

Mortimer has always been patient. Until recently, that is. Having literally nothing to do was grating on his already-frayed nerves.

"Quit grinding your teeth. It's pissing me off," came the deep rumble behind him.

Toad's jaw seized up. Of course Sabretooth would have something to say about the way he coped with being in a cramped little cell. A tiny, plain, two-by-two thing with- wait, they were in America. Americans used imperial units. So six feet by six feet, maybe a little more. Toad paced the length of the length of the cell door, which was less a door and more of a gate of bars made of some sort of plasma or something of the like, and found the cell to be just over the length of seven of his feet. Sabretooth didn't move when Mortimer came dangerously close to stepping on his pants leg.

"Sit down," Sabretooth growled. Mortimer's head snapped over in Victor's direction, giving the other an incredulous look.

The furry bastard took up most of the cell just by sitting in the corner. It didn't help matters that they had to carefully avoid the bars if they wanted to go un-singed. Toad had a small, black mark on his left palm that proved that much. He had to fight his subservient nature not to just drop to his haunches and look to the older man for his next order. It was something he'd been trying to break himself of in recent weeks.

The floor was covered in dust, though there was no logical reason it should be, Toad figured. It was the fine, soft and powdery kind of dust that accumulates over months of non-use. Like the books in the library at the orphanage. Fuck. It also seemed to cling to the walls and ceiling, miraculously stopping, go figure, just before the plasma bars. The floors outside were clean, from what he could see and what he had seen on the way in, like they were swept every hour. Which they weren't. They'd been locked up in the cell for a little over three hours, and they had yet to see anyone. No guards, no food, no other prisoners.

Victor made a noise somewhere between a snort and a snarl; his version of a scoff, mocking Mortimer for not following his orders. Their eyes met and they stared each other down. Sabretooth looked bored and mildly irritated, which, in Mortimer's opinion was a dramatic improvement over his usual attitude that shifted between two extremes- amused by others' misfortune and homicidal rage.

A thousand thoughts whirled through his mind, many of which he had no desire to bring to light as they crept along the edges of his conscious thought, giving the smaller man the set up for a brilliant headache. With a huff, he broke the staring contest and stepped over Victor's outstretched leg, curling himself up in the corner and finally, much to the other's relief, sitting. Toad figured it would only help to inflate Sabretooth's undeserved ego, but obeyed nonetheless.

With his feet situated under his body to spring up, should he need to, he leaned over his legs, wrapping his arms around them, one hand scratching nervously at the opposite arm. To take away some of the ache caused by the positioning of his legs-drawn in close, pressed together- he leaned his shoulder on the far wall, away from the doors. He would have rested his head on the wall as well, but the fact that his hair had somehow remained clean throughout the scuffle and being dragged in by the guards kept him from letting the cobwebs muck it up. His hair had really started to shine after his recent investment in a bottle of conditioner.

It felt good to be at least somewhat presentable, he reasoned to himself when he'd gotten a strange look and a wrinkled nose from the cashier. It probably had more to do with the fact that he was a mutant and less to so with the fact that he was buying women's products or his smell, the smell that he'd been working to contain recently, thankyouverymuch.

It wasn't a very easy task, this being presentable. He found that most soaps irritated his skin, causing it to break out or dry up, crack open and bleed. Liquid soaps were a bit easier, but very few brands were gentle enough for his skin.

He hadn't the courage to purchase soaps for infants, so he settled with those for humans with skin conditions. Eczema was a common name splashed across labels carelessly, and he did a little research into the condition. If anything made him feel a pang of remorse for humans, it was those suffering with Eczema and Psoriasis. Though he bounced back and forth between 'that's unfortunate' and 'feel my pain'.

He absently played with his hair as he briefly thought about how half-cocked this plan was, but he'd gone with it without saying a word after the highest praise he'd ever gotten from Magneto; 'You don't smell like a rubbish bin today'. No, in fact he smelled like city rain- mildly acidic, but still refreshing.

"-on yer period?"

"Wot?" He was startled into letting his accent slip, raising his head to look at the blonde.

"Ya been pretty moody lately," Victor clarified. "Usually the only thing I get from you is the stench of despair."

Toad tried to size up the look on the other's face, but found him strangely hard to read for once. Sabretooth usually wore his emotions on his sleeve, very caustic and explosive. But not then. He seemed almost passive. Almost. More like bored. Like he wasn't taking any pleasure from Mortimer's suffering, which was something he was known to do.

"So?" Toad asked, twirling a lock of hair around a finger, looking away from the beastly man. Seriously, putting a man who was over two meters tall in a two meter cell was cruel. Especially with another person.

"Just making conversation," Victor said with a heave of one broad shoulder, a shrug.

"Well, don't."

That earned Mortimer a snarl, which he was glad for. It meant the man he knew was back. Though, at the same time, it terrified him. He had nowhere to run. Even if he hopped up to the ceiling, Victor could just reach up and grab him and tear him limb from limb at his leisure.

"Just because you've got your stink under control, it doesn't make you hot shit now."

Mortimer's eyes widened briefly, then he hung his head. "No shit?" he muttered, though there was no real venom in his voice. His chin lay between his knees that pressed into either cheek. He heard Sabretooth move, but didn't look up.

He did, however, yelp when his arm was taken in a too-rough grip and he was pulled over Sabretooth's lap.

"The hell?" Mortimer groused, trying to pull his arm free of the other's grip. To no avail, of course. The blonde seemed to just watch him struggle for a moment, the prick. He got a strange look from the older man when he gave up and sagged into himself. He let his free arm rest in his lap, his knees and ankles bent awkwardly to keep from being pushed against the wall. His behind hovered in the space between Victor's thighs, his side slumped against the broad chest.

"The fuck ever," Mortimer mumbled. "It's not like I have anywhere to go. Do your worst."

"I'm not gonna rape you, if that's what yer thinkin'," Victor growled, releasing his tiny captive's arm.

"Course not," Toad mumbled, following it up with a self-depreciating bubble of laughter, "I know taking care of myself doesn't suddenly make me attractive." He used his free arm to support himself on the other side of Victor, sweaty palm sticky with dust.

He flinched when he heard a slightly quieter version of Sabertooth's roar, but didn't fight when he was seized by his biceps and turned to face the man. He let his legs go limp, his torso turning awkwardly until one leg had to follow suit, his knee digging into Victor's stomach in a way that couldn't be comfortable. When he turned his head away, his hair fell over his face.

"Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?" Sabretooth asked- no, accused.

Mortimer stared at the floor, lips pursed. His face burned with shame, but he stayed silent for a long moment. He didn't dare raise his eyes when he spoke; "I stopped grinding my teeth and I sat down. What more do you want?"

"How about for you to stop being a moody bitch?"

"Yes, I'll get right on changing my personality for you," Toad grumbled, glaring half-heartedly.

Victor huffed a short-lived growl and pulled Mortimer close to take a good, long breath, inhaling, tasting his scent. The younger man tenses, his heart going wild when a thick, broad, perfectly fitting and almost uncomfortably textured tongue swipes between his neck and shoulder. He tries to pull away, unintentionally exposing more to the other, the wide neck of the clothing they were forced into sliding down while he struggled.

Sabretooth holds him in place, both burly arms around Toad's torso and arms. The younger man's skin leaves a pleasant tingle on his tongue, so he swipes it over the flesh again. And again.

"I thought you weren't going to rape me," Mortimer says lowly when teeth graze the flesh the feral man had been suckling. A spark of arousal makes him tingle in odd places, but Toad manages to stomp it down under a wave of disappointment. Being lied to. Again. He quits struggling and occupies his mind with mundane thoughts, like wondering if he has enough money stashed away to treat himself to a decent meal. Maybe he'll make himself some toad-in-the-hole and carrot cake. The thought made him smirk until he felt the claws of one of Sabretooth's hand digging into his back.

He hissed and pulled back, but it didn't stop two of the nails from leaving angry red welts in their wake. Though Victor loosened his grip. Mortimer sat back, perched precariously on Sabretooth's knees, and he notices that- oh. Oh! Victor's pupils are dilated and he's grinning, but it's not his usual tight-lipped, feral grin that makes you truly feel like a tiny woodland creature. It was more loose, more unguarded, less terrifying and almost sexy. Almost.

The fucker was getting high off of his sweat!

Victor's reflexes had dulled just enough for Mortimer to get his feet under himself and shove off, attaching himself to the dusty ceiling, mildly surprised that he stuck.

"Asshole," he accused, cheeks tinged with a blush.

Sabretooth's grin returned to its feral, terrifying state, and he adjusted his half-hard dick before splaying out one leg and bending the other to rest his elbow on it. "That's a pretty neat trick," the older man nearly purred.

"Eat a dick."


	2. Chapter 2

It had been two weeks since the incident with Sabretooth in the cell. The plan had gone off almost as well as planned, save for the fact that it seemed like Magneto had been planning on leaving him behind. Again. That must've been the, what, fourth, maybe fifth time he's done that? Mortimer wondered to himself as he threw the towel that had been around his neck over a wheeled chair.

Even though the man seemingly tried to get rid of him at every turn, he found himself always being accepted back onto the team whenever he got out or, occasionally, rescued. The most recent adventure had Sabretooth grabbing him by the back of his shirt and dragging him along.

Mortimer stretched his arms over his head as he let his mind wander. They were holed up in some small building that had very likely been a place for physical therapy, judging by the equipment they found upon taking over the place. There were couches, chairs, medical beds, a couple of cots, a broken elliptical and one still-working treadmill, though it was a fossil of a thing. It served its purpose, though, as Toad had worked up a decent sweat.

He debated taking a nap before getting a shower, leaning over the medical bed he'd moved to the corner of the room to close off the tiny space in which he'd piled pillows. The corner was very comfortable, and well-hidden should someone come in the room while he was asleep. The more he thought about pillows and sleep, the better that idea sounded.

Heavy, booted footfalls sounded in the hallway and Toad tensed. His door was still open. Freddy was asleep and the brat seemed to always run, so that left only one member of the team that was stationed at the center. Sabretooth.

"Hey," said team member growled from the doorway.

"What?" Mortimer shot back, turning around. He drew in a sharp breath, finding the man right behind him. The blonde made a soft growling noise and leaned in close. Mortimer jumped back and tripped over the chair, making the other laugh as he cursed and backed up against the wall, glaring.

"Jumpy little shit," Victor teased. "Beer?" he offered, throwing down a nearly empty cardboard twenty-four pack between them.

Mortimer continued to glare, his eyes briefly flitting to the box, then back up at Sabretooth. "What do you want?" the brunette bit out.

"Saw you on the treadmill," the bigger man said conversationally, tipping his beer back as soon as the words left his lips. He chugged the rest of the bitter liquid and threw the can over his shoulder. It clanked against the wall and made other offensive noises on the floor until it came to a stop.

Mortimer raised a brow and parted his lips. He let his tongue pass over them as he waited for a response.

"You want the rest of this shit?" Victor asked, kicking the box over to Mortimer. Peering in, he saw that there were three left.

"How long have you had this?" Mortimer finally found his voice.

"A few hours," Sabretooth said with a grin, taking a couple long strides to crouch by the other's feet. Even from a few feet, Mortimer could smell the alcohol on him. He should be pissed. Wasted. But he's no more than buzzed. "It doesn't do shit," the blonde answered the puzzled look on the other's features. "But you know what does?" He gave the other a brilliant grin, sharp teeth glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

"Enlighten me."

"You," Victor supplied, grabbing the other's ankle and pulling him toward him. "It's your sweat." He straddled the younger man, knees on either side of his hips, moving his hands to support himself and keep Mortimer pinned. To his surprise, Toad didn't even struggle, though his glare wavered for a moment, it quickly fell back in place.

When Sabretooth leaned down for a taste of the other's throat, he was pleasantly surprised by the way Mortimer closed his eyes and tilted his head back. There was fear and anger radiating off of the smaller frame, but he was resigned to his fate. Victor nearly purred as he licked at the offered flesh, sensation already flickering to life in his nerve-endings. Once the entire expanse of delicate neck shined with spit rather than sweat, he moved on to other places, gently, in his mind, lifting the other's arms and pinning them to the wall with one thick-fingered hand.

Toad gasped when the tongue moved further down, trailing between the lean muscles of his chest and over to one armpit. He squirmed at the tickling sensation, grimacing at how tightly his brow was scrunched together, eyes aching from how tightly clamped shut they were. Mortimer whimpered as the other nibbled his way over sensitive ribs. He swiped his tongue over the flesh one last time before sitting back, a low rumble in his throat.

Several minutes passed before anyone so much as spoke.

"D'ya think I'm a rapist, kid?" Sabretooth asked, opening dilated eyes to look down at the other, who was then squirming in an attempt to get out of his grip.

The question had rudely taken him out of his fantasy, bringing Mortimer back to reality. The man on top of him wasn't Wanda, wasn't even some strange woman or man he'd met on the street with a weird green skin or mutant fetish, but a member of his own team who could snap him in two with very little effort. The fact that Victor had long blonde hair or gorgeous lips didn't take away from the fact that the man himself, his personality, was terrifying, and that was certainly a boner-killer. Toad did, quite frankly think that Sabretooth could already be a rapist, or wouldn't put it past him to just take what he wants. However, he settled on a slightly less accusatory;

"Why does what I think matter?"

"Just curious," the blonde said, licking his lips right after. He pushed Mortimer's hair out of his eyes and laved his tongue over his forehead and hairline. He moved down a bit, licking from his jaw, up to his temple, molding his pliable tongue to the curves of his captive's face. "I'm not, but I have to wonder how much you'd sweat, and what your," he paused briefly, a lazy grin splitting his features, "other fluids might do. You could probably use a good fuckin' anyway, you tight-ass.

"No matter what you, or anyone else, might think, I'm not the type to force my dick on someone who don't want it." His lopsided grin seemed out of place with the statement, and Mortimer frowned deeply.

After a moment of wondering just why the fuck Sabretooth would say something like that, Mortimer took advantage of the other's inebriated state and wiggled his lower half out from under the other. The odd way his hips bent allowed him to get his feet on the other's chest and push with all his might.

Victor fell back and just lay on the floor for a moment, dazed. His legs were spread and the tent in his jeans was obvious and downright embarrassing for Toad.

"Get. Out."

Toad leapt up on top of the cabinets that lined one wall, hissing at the other. He wiped the dust and sweat from his hands on his pants legs, his bare back becoming coated in cobwebs as it brushed the ceiling. A shower was definitely in his near future, Mortimer decided.

With a throaty chuckle, Victor hauled himself to his feet. Swaying a bit, he leaned over and grabbed the towel that had been knocked to the floor. He took a deep breath of its scent and growled, smirking over it at his skittish ally. He turned and left the room, bracing himself on the wall and grinning like a loon.

After ten minutes of warily glaring at the doorway, Toad eased himself down from the cabinets and went looking for another towel so he could shower.

After which, he felt rather pleasant, letting his hair air dry as he sat about organizing the room he had temporarily taken as his own to his liking. A few minutes in, he stopped his 'embarrassing' humming as something wet slapped on the tiled floor. After watching the doorway for a few seconds, he moved to investigate. He picked up the towel, very likely his from earlier, and his mouth fell open. He ran to the doorway, sticking out his head and arm, shaking the water dampened, semen-stained towel.

"This is fuckin' disgusting!" he accused and was met only with laughter from further down the hall.


	3. Chapter 3

It was really stupid, Mortimer thought, keeping the tabs from the beers Sabretooth had given him. He kept them in his shoe, so no one knew but he, though he chastised himself for it on a daily basis. It wasn't like they were a gift, he told himself when he tried to convince himself to throw them out. They were a bribe. Or Sabretooth's trash, but more likely than that, a bribe.

He had drunk the beer, gotten a mite warm and fuzzy, and fell into a dreamless, nightmareless sleep, curled up in the corner. He had surprised himself by not changing rooms the next day, not that he believed it would have kept Sabretooth away. No, he thought, the bastard would just track him down if he wanted to molest him again for another high.

He hadn't seen Sabretooth for two days, the last time being when he cornered him in his own room and licked him inappropriately. He hadn't gotten back on the treadmill for those days, either, figuring the smell of his sweat would entice the other.

It was a sore irritation that he had worked so hard to lose the weight, but couldn't make an effort to maintain his physique unless he wanted that tongue all over him again. The thought made him shiver in both excitement and repulsion.

Mortimer started to wonder, holed up in his pillow-fort, if he liked being miserable, if he got some sort of psychological benefit from putting himself in these situations over and over. He couldn't see one, other than the security of having an ally or two to be awake while he slept. He thought for a moment that it might be a sexual thing, fist clenched in one of the pillowcases, adamantly refusing to bring it to his chest and wrap his arms around it. He certainly did seem to develop feelings for those who couldn't care less about him.

His thoughts wound up on trying to decide if he found Sabretooth attractive or not, as one sharp-nailed hand found his opposite arm and raked at an itch he always had when something made him nervous. Thinking about Sabretooth in that way was enough to make anyone nervous.

He spent an hour trying to convince himself that there was no universe in which that man could be attractive. He was as hairy as an ape, and the body-hair would probably scratch against and irritate his already sensitive skin. He was huge, tall and thick- dwarfed Mortimer, and that made him jealous, not aroused. His tongue had felt like wet sandpaper against his skin. His breath smelled bad, though Toad supposed he couldn't speak better of his own. The long, blonde hair was a plus. When it wasn't tangled and matted from whatever else it was Sabretooth did.

He didn't even want to think about the other's distinct lack of a personality.

He stretched his arms out and yawned, a painful spasm rocking his body when he flinched at the touch of paper against his arm. He looked up at the surface of the medical bed to find a bag from a fast-food joint resting on the end closest to him, and Sabretooth grinning down at him.

"Christ!" he gasped, and glared at the intruder.

"Not very perceptive, are ya?" Victor asked, all feral smiles.

"I was half asleep!" Mortimer defended himself. "Asshole."

"Yeah? Well, this 'asshole' brought you food." Sabretooth then proceeded to push the bag over the edge of the bed.

Mortimer jumped again when it wound up in his lap, staring at it as if it had insulted his mother, if he'd cared about the woman, and listened to Sabretooth laugh. He didn't dare look up because he felt a blush rising to his cheeks. Mortified, he slowly lifted and opened the bag, examining its contents; two cheeseburgers. He finally glanced over the bed when he felt he had gotten his embarrassing reaction under control, and found that Sabretooth was gone. He got to his feet to look around the room and make sure the other wasn't hiding somewhere to startle him while he ate and make him choke to death. He even hopped over the bed and went to look out in the hall.

Once satisfied that Victor was gone, he sat the bag back on the bed and stared at it, certain the other giving him food had to mean something. Maybe the fatty foods were an incentive to get him back on the treadmill, he thought, because there was no way Sabretooth cared if he ate or not. Hell, Freddy didn't even care that much and they sort of got along.

He ended up grabbing the bag and walking out of the room. He roamed the halls, looking for Sabretooth, finding him watching TV in the waiting room with a soda in hand. Mortimer briefly wondered how this place still had electricity, or cable for that matter, but put it out of his mind for the time being. He threw the bag at Sabretooth, earning himself a grunt and a glare.

"I don't want your charity."

"It ain't charity. My eyes were bigger than my stomach. No need to waste shit," Victor said, setting the bag aside.

Toad was frankly stunned that the other didn't fly into a blind rage.

"Fatass don't need it and Speedy didn't want it. I don't want it, either." He wasn't looking at Mortimer as he spoke; rather he was watching some press conference with a sneer.

Toad recognized Senator Kelly on the television and flicked his tongue out to turn it off.

"I was watching that," Sabretooth griped.

"It's all bullshit. You're just going ta get all pissed off and go on another rampage. That doesn't help anyone."

"I enjoy it."

"You're the only one."

"Don't that make it worth it?"

Mortimer simply sighed in response.

"Anyway, if you just came out here to bitch at me about my moral choices, you can take your food and, as you say, 'piss off'."

"Your food," Mortimer corrected.

"Eat the food or I'll shove it down your throat," came a growled threat, Sabretooth suddenly sitting up.

Mortimer narrowed his eyes. "Make me."

There was a brief scuffle that ended in a familiar position- Sabretooth perched on top of Toad, only then he held the other by the throat. He reached behind himself to grab the bag and tore open one of the burgers with one clawed hand. He pushed it against green lips, snarling, demanding the other open his mouth. With condiments smeared all over his face, Mortimer finally relented.

"Alright, alright! Jesus Christ, I'll eat the fucking burger!"

Sabretooth glared down at him for a moment before he too relented, handing over the burger before he released the other's throat. He watched Toad take, chew and swallow a few bites before he got off of him entirely.

Mortimer ate, hoping the other could sense his shame and anger, glaring at the floor as he did so.

Without another word, Sabretooth left, slamming the already-rickety door behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been seven unbearably long days since the group still at the therapy center had seen hide or hair of Sabretooth, and while Pietro's lips got looser with his father's favorite pet gone, it made Mortimer nervous. The blonde had left out of anger, of his own volition, not for some mission. At least, that's what Mortimer assumed, though he couldn't be sure.

He wondered, as he cleaned, how Magneto got ahold of Sabretooth. He'd personally witnessed the destruction of two cellphones at Sabretooth's hands. After the fourth or fifth, he'd heard, the boss man stopped giving the delicate devices to the brute. Pietro was the one with the contact now, and he just loved to brag about it, putting his daddy issues on full display for everyone.

As he tied up garbage bags to throw in the dumpster out back, Toad imagined Sabretooth in the forests. His blonde hair bouncing and flowing about his shoulders as he ran, eventually dropping to all fours. Chasing a scent on a brisk breeze, turning his boxy face into it to catch the full brunt of the fear of whatever critter he was pursuing. How Sabretooth would grin and nearly purr as the breeze cooled the tiny bit of sweat that had gathered on his forehead. He briefly wondered if the feral man would shed his clothes and gallivant about the forest naked, and not even bother to cook whatever food he nabbed. Probably.

Toad was both disgusted by and jealous of the fact that Sabretooth seemed to find himself above the desire to be socially acceptable, that he wasn't bound by anyone's rules. He was truly free. Almost.

The realization came with a snort, and he dug his nails into the plastic of one bag, trying to keep ahold of it while carrying two others. Pietro poked his head out of his room and gave Toad a grin. He disappeared briefly and returned, throwing a nearly full, hastily tied off bag in his direction.

"Since you're already headed out, you can take my trash, too. Thanks."

With a roll of his eyes and a grunt, he took the brat's trash in hand as well, mildly surprised that the young man bagged it up himself. Small miracles, he supposed, and delved back into his fantasies of a wild Sabretooth.

It wasn't until he started cooking dinner that night, pleased with himself that he'd, with a little- very little- help from the others, gotten the place looking halfway decent, that Sabretooth showed up. Hotdogs were heating in a coffee pot, buns were warming in a small toaster oven, a few bags of chips lined the counter on which the microwave containing thawing, prepackaged frozen carrots sat, and Sabretooth stood behind him. Toad did his best to ignore the older man, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end and giving him away. He didn't jump at the heavy footfalls telling him exactly where Sabretooth was moving to, and he certainly didn't blush when fingers awkwardly pushed- rather, pulled, since Victor was behind him- his bangs out if his face, tracing his hairline and gathering up the bit of sweat that had beaded there. Under no circumstances did he have any sort of reaction, he told himself, to the positively obscene sounds of Sabretooth sucking on his own fingers, damp with Mortimer's sweat.

"Leave that crap for Speedy and Fatass. I got something better," the blonde purred in his ear. A shiver wracked Mortimer, keeping him from complaining when Sabretooth wiped his spit-slick fingers on the back of his shirt.

"What is it?" Mortimer asked when he found his voice, internally kicking himself for how small and meek it sounded.

"You'll just have to see," Victor said, pulling away.

Mortimer stood quickly, turning to follow a retreating blonde giant. He sighed and picked up his pace, nearly jogging to follow long, confident strides. Sabretooth stopped in front of the door to the room he claimed as his own and looked at Toad expectantly.

"You should let them know their food is ready," he says, opening the chip bag, enjoying the fresh puff of scent before eating a small handful.

Mortimer's shoulders sagged for a moment and he backtracked to Pietro's door. He slammed his palm on the wood a few times before raising his voice a bit to announce that the food was cooked and waiting.

He almost wanted to stand there and wait for Pietro to confirm that he'd heard, but Sabretooth urged him back to him with a low and impatient 'c'mon'. He thought about dragging his heels to irritate the blonde, but the low growl from Victor's throat had him hurrying instead. Mortimer's heart leapt to his throat when Sabretooth opened the door, motioning with the hand that held the bag of chips for the brunette to enter first.

He imagined what horrors awaited him in that room.

Mortimer felt silly for expecting something other than the same white walls and cabinets every other room had. Like Sabretooth's personality alone would change the color of the walls to a deep crimson or a disgusting off-yellow, maybe even a rich amber with bubbles. He also expected the walls and scratchy carpeting to be torn up, possibly from the other raging or even growing bored and just peeling paint off and carpet up to see what was underneath. However, the room was normal. Sure, the mattresses torn from two different cots were thrown on the floor together and there were beer cans on every available surface, but it wasn't different. Wasn't scary like he was entering a torture chamber.

To his shame, Mortimer did jump a bit when Victor closed the door behind him. The older man moved around the frozen Toad with such grace that wasn't expected of him outside of battle, outside of the hunt. He sat down on the makeshift bed in one fluid motion, tossing the bag of chips next to what looked like a pile of steak strips on a clump of paper towels.

"'Mere, it ain't gonna eat itself," Sabretooth said, plucking one of the chunks of meat from the pile with a clawed finger and thumb. He put it in his mouth and sucked the juices from his fingers. Mortimer looked elsewhere as he walked up.

He sat on the floor next to the mattress, curling his legs up under himself. He eyed the meat, trying to figure out what it was with its burnt edges and dripping with a reddish-purple tinted sauce.

"It's deer," Sabretooth deadpanned, as if he was annoyed that the other didn't know. "Try it."

Mortimer looked up at Sabretooth for a moment, trying to figure out just what his game was. He didn't seem devious, so it couldn't be drugged. He had a notoriously bad poker face, always grinning. Toad couldn't entirely rule out the possibility of it being poisoned, though, even if the other did take a bite. He knew many poisons wouldn't affect the other.

Sabretooth's neutral expression became a frown, glaring back at Mortimer, who wasn't moving to try the food.

"Just fucking try it. If you don't like it, you can go eat that shit you made."

Mortimer broke eye contact, his shoulders hunching. He reached out toward the paper towel plate, flinching when Sabretooth grabbed another strip and plunked it in his mouth. The blonde snorted at how jumpy the other was. Finding a small piece, Toad picked it up and brought it to his lips. He didn't put it in his mouth then. He sniffed it cautiously. Sabretooth grunted in an attempt not to laugh that failed when Mortimer parted his lips at the earthy aroma of the morsel. Embarrassed, he shoved the piece in his mouth and unconsciously covered his mouth with his hand as he chewed.

Mortimer's eyes widened a fraction at the taste. The sweet, fruity sauce took away from the fact that the meat was burnt. Sabretooth really knew how to cook, he realized, just not how long to leave the meat over the heat.

"It's good," he admitted quietly. He wouldn't have gone with something so fruity, Mortimer thought. Perhaps Italian salad dressing to speed the process along. But, somehow, the bitter-sweet flavor offset how gamey venison could be.

"Then eat. Got plenty more," Sabretooth said, reaching to the far side of the mattresses to retrieve a couple of unopened beers. He passed one to Mortimer, who muttered a quiet 'thanks', and grunted in response.

The two ate and sipped beer in relatively comfortable silence, Mortimer growing more comfortable with each beer he took in, Sabretooth supplying another every time his can emptied. The blonde said nothing of the way Toad took the tab from each one and slipped it into his shoe between bites of cranberry and wild onion flavored meat.

Around the time he finished his fifth beer, Mortimer realized he was getting a slight buzz, becoming far too comfortable in the presence of someone who could, and would, tear him to shreds at the slightest provocation. He declined a sixth that was held out to him, or tried to, but Sabretooth popped the tab and sat it next to him on the brown and tan patterned carpet anyway.

"Trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me?" Mortimer teased, running the pad of his right pointer finger over a drop of misplaced liquid on the gleaming silver top of the can. Sabretooth snorted.

"Do I need to get you drunk to do that?" Victor teased back.

Toad frowned. What could one more hurt? After another bite from the seemingly endless pile of meat, he picked up the can and took a long pull.

"Maybe I should get you drunk. You'd be amusing. I bet you're the table-dancing type."

Toad rolled his eyes at the comment. "Hardly. I'm a depressed drunk." The words were so plainly stated, they made Sabretooth cock his head curiously. Mortimer then stuffed his mouth full of meat so he wouldn't have to answer any question the other asked in response to his admission right away.

"I can see that too," Sabretooth said, reaching into the chip bag.

He looked so comfortable in his own skin, Mortimer noticed, in only a white wife-beater, stained with varying shades of red, brown and yellow, and blue jeans worn thin on one knee. He tried to pick out what the individual stains were as he sipped the beer to wash down stubborn flakes of meat and onion. A thick, ruddy brown one near the neck of the shirt was probably blood. Maybe he'd gotten a cut and used the shirt to wipe away the oozing liquid as the wound was already sealing. Near the middle of the shirt were dusty, smudged hand prints, perhaps from wiping the dirt from his hands while chasing their very meal. Barely visible dribbles of beer stains marred the shirt over his left pectoral, and unidentified smears near the bottom caught Mortimer's attention.

Sabretooth watched the other's eyes roam his torso, adding another stain as he wiped his hand on his shirt after eating a handful of chips. "Grease," he explained as Mortimer's eyes lingered along the bottom of his shirt. Mortimer hummed lowly in response. He'd forgotten that the other had a motorcycle.

The meat pile started growing thin, Sabretooth plucking a piece to suck on suggestively every once in a while as Mortimer tried not to eat like a starved man. He had already had enough, but a feast so rarely presented itself.

They both reached for the last piece and Mortimer flinched back violently. With a scoff, Sabretooth turned his hand palm up, offering the last piece. Toad put his hands on the carpeted floor between his legs and refused to look up.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"I have more," Sabretooth said, ignoring the apology completely. Mortimer just shook his head, blinking a bit in an effort to clear up the dizziness the motion caused. "Here," he said. Mortimer still refused to look up.

He gasped when thick fingers fisted in his hair and pulled his head back, another hand shoving the sliver of meat between his parted lips. He tried to fight it, but a paw held his mouth firmly closed. He couldn't use his tongue if he wanted to, and Sabretooth was in prime position to snap his neck should he try, so he carefully chewed the meat, though his heart was in his throat again, and swallowed.

"Good," Sabretooth purred, pulling him flush against his body. He moved his hands, pushing the messy paper towels out of the way so he could lay down with Mortimer's back to his chest. One arm cradled his head, the other rested on his hip.

Mortimer bit back a whimper when a rough tongue found the back of his neck. He was licked repeatedly, that tongue mapping out his hairline, the bump of his spine, under his ear and the parts of his jaw it could reach. Mortimer tried, in vain, to stop trembling and get his breathing under control when Sabretooth caressed his full belly.

"You ate so much I can feel how swollen your stomach is," Sabretooth said with a grin against the back of Mortimer's neck. He pushed and squeezed on the tiny paunch, kneading it carefully on top of the other's shirt.

"Don't," Mortimer whined, pulling weakly at the hairy arm.

Sabretooth relented, moving his hand back to a sharp hip, tongue resuming its work. After a moment, the blonde took Mortimer's comparatively slender wrist in hand, bending his arm back near uncomfortably, to lick at the sweaty palm. Sabretooth let out a deep, rumbling purr into the moist flesh, and Mortimer could feel the others eyelashes fluttering against his fingertips.

He could get away now, Mortimer reasoned, by gouging Sabretooth's eyes with his sharp nails. But the wounds would probably just heal in a matter of a few hours and Sabretooth would be out for his head. But the feeling of those lashes, probably the only delicate part of the monster of a man behind him, felt so strangely good on his calloused digits.

"Did you know you sweat drugs?"

"Yeah," Toad answered, curling his fingers, searching for those eyelashes again. He found closed eyes and pressed lightly on the lids, his nails catching on Sabretooth's brow. He was astonished that the other let him; it was an intimate gesture, one that promised pain, he felt. Sabretooth sighed into his hand, his tongue darting out over Mortimer's wrist.

"How did you find out?" His words were drawn out, already under the influence, it seemed.

Mortimer snorted, and it faded into a quiet sigh. He wondered how Sabretooth would react to knowing how he was held captive as a youth, back when his skin was still a normal color, being poked and prodded and tested. And violated. Swabs between his thighs, the crack of his ass, his arm pits- his sweat gathered and run through tests on lab rats, on other mutants. He probably wouldn't react. Not outwardly, anyway. Though his capture, even as a child, would only reinforce the thoughts he was almost sure the older man had of him being a weakling.

"Don't want to talk about it," was all he said.

"Bad memories?"

"Yeah."

Sabretooth 'mmm'ed into his palm before pulling back and away entirely. Toad sighed at the loss of the first contact with the man he was actually enjoying, and craned his neck to watch the man grab another beer. He sat up as Sabretooth did, watching the other open the can and take a swig.

"You make my mouth dry," Victor said.

And your dick hard, Mortimer added silently, his gaze traveling from the blown pupils and barely there blue irises to the tent in the other's jeans. He'd never been told that his hallucinogenic sweat had the qualities of an aphrodisiac, but he didn't dare even hope that he got someone aroused. He'd learned many years ago that the only people ever attracted to him were freaks, dangerous. He supposed Sabretooth fit these criteria, but being tall and blonde gave him options. Options better than he. Yup, had too much to drink, Mortimer thought.

"I'm gonna go," he said, the silent 'if that's alright' obvious and painful.

"Yeah. Probably got a mess to clean up in the break room," Sabretooth said, one hand wandering down his thigh toward his crotch.

Mortimer groaned. He didn't even want to think about that at the moment. He didn't want to think about anything, really. Toad pulled himself to his feet and watched the other for a moment- lazily stroking himself through his jeans, heat pooled in Mortimer's gut at the sight. He intended to excuse himself before things got any more awkward.

"Thanks for the food."

"No problem."

He let himself out and closed the door behind himself, deciding to get a glass of water and a shower to sober up, his recent thoughts surely indicating that he had no tolerance for alcohol. That it was certainly that and not the fact that Sabretooth taking an interest in him made him feel... Wanted. Wanted, warm, pleasant and terrified. Yes, he thought with a nod to himself; those feelings were definitely caused by the beer.


	5. Chapter 5

Mortimer hissed as he was yanked off the treadmill, struggled as he was pulled back against a broad, hairy, bare chest. He elbowed Sabretooth in the jaw.

"Christ, mate. At least let me finish!"

"'Mate'?" Sabretooth asked with a toothy grin, holding Toad off the ground easily. He suckled at the fresh sweat, holding the other around the middle with one arm, the other taking a hold of the bicep of the arm that clipped him in the face.

"It's an expression," Toad complained, setting his feet on Sabretooth's thighs. He tried to push off, but the other held him firmly.

"I'll let you go in a minute. Why let this go to waste?" was purred in his ear, and Mortimer refused to believe that he shivered. Sabretooth shifted his captive around, pitching him forward a bit so that the other's rear rested against his stomach awkwardly, like he was sitting on a chair that was glued to the wall. Mortimer drew in a staggered breath when Sabretooth's tongue found the flesh between his shoulder blades and licked a solid stripe all the way up to the soft hairs at the base of his skull. He hissed again, clawing at the arm around his midsection. "Stop that," Sabretooth said, giving Mortimer a little shake. "But it is kind of cute when you hiss."

"'Cute'?!" Mortimer near shrieked, his thrashing increasing tenfold. He hooked his feet around Sabretooth's legs and tried to bring him down at the knee, but the blonde was having none of that.

"Would you prefer 'funny'?"

"It's more realistic," Mortimer said with a snort.

"I think it's kind of funny that you still think you're ugly," Sabretooth said, his voice a bit muffled by Mortimer's back. The brunette tried to elbow him with his free arm, couldn't quite reach his head and just stopped.

"Wot?"

"Freckles," Sabretooth purred with an amused chuckle. "Going deaf now, Jumpy?"

"No! You just," Mortimer stopped to consider his words. He let out an irritated grunt as tongue and teeth toyed with the bump of his spine. "In the cell, you said that I'm not hot shit, or whatever." His words petered out into uncertainty.

"'N' I meant it. Didn't think you were the type to see everything so black and white, though. Cute ain't good enough for ya?"

"No man wants to be 'cute'," Mortimer said, practically spitting the last word.

"Tough shit. You've got back freckles and a bowl cut. Automatic qualifiers."

Toad's shoulders sagged and he stopped struggling, hanging limply over the arm holding him up. Sabretooth released the other's bicep to lift him by his neck, slowly, almost tenderly, and turned his face toward him to suck the droplets of sweat from his temple.

"You're on drugs," Mortimer murmured in a small show of defiance.

"The sky is blue. Fingernails grow faster than toenails. My dick is six inches long," Sabretooth said as nonchalantly as if he were rattling off a grocery list.

"That is not something I want to know!" Mortimer nearly shouted, rearing back. He put his feet back on thick thighs and pushed, twisting his upper body as he did so, bracing himself on Sabretooth's shoulder. The other finally let him go, and he fell to the ground, landing with a loud 'fwump'. He pulled his feet under himself and launched his body over the treadmill, putting that between them. Mortimer takes a deep breath and holds onto the device's grips, glaring over it at the blonde. The grinning, loaded, stunning blonde.

"You sure about that?" Victor teased.

"Yes! Fucking Christ!" Toad threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "Do I just scream 'easy' to you, or something? Like I'll just give it up for anyone who asks because I'm just that desperate?"

Anger turns to fear in a split second as Sabretooth bears his teeth, not grinning, but growling. His movements were slow, but Mortimer was unsure if he could get out of the pissed off mutant's grasp, should he get ahold of him, so he ducked to the side when massive paws reached out for him. Sabretooth gripped the foam-coated handle of the treadmill and bent it, and Mortimer whimpered as if the other was hurting him.

In a way, he was. Mortimer hated running where there were people.

With a snarl, Victor released the warped metal and torn foam, turning to the brunette. He advanced on the smaller male, clenching his fists.

"I've been being nice," he warned.

"So you can get high off of me and fuck me?" Ah, shit, Mortimer thought, stupid mouth. He grimaced when his bare back hit the cold wall, a whimper escaping before he could stop it. "W-wait, wait! I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry, just don't- don't-"

"Forget it. I won't touch you anymore."

Sabretooth slammed the door so hard the frame cracked and one of the hinges broke, leaving the piece hanging, swaying. Toad sinks to sit on his haunches, raking sharp nails over his scalp, pulling at his hair.

"God dammit," he muttered. He tried not to flinch each time another door was slammed; Sabretooth leaving.

After a minute of silence, Pietro pokes his head in the room.

"What the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Lovers' spat?" Pietro teases.

"Piss off, Pietro!"

"Well!" the other said, mock indignantly, putting his hand on his chest. He turned his nose up, fighting off a snicker before running off.

That night, when they're all summoned back to the asteroid, Toad wishes he hadn't pissed Sabretooth off.


	6. Chapter 6

Toad was so dizzy that he couldn't tell which way was up. Couldn't remember if he was on the asteroid, in Genosha or on some mission. He could be anywhere, he thinks, gripping the toilet bowl, staring at the space between it and the robin's egg blue tiled floor. It seems so big and obvious, like the toilet bowl has its own purple and black energy field, but that's silly and his stomach rolled again, and he pitched forward. He braced himself on the rim and realized he's sticky, sweating, hair sticking to his forehead and chin. Or maybe it's the acidic vomit dribbling down his chin that has him so sticky.

The one thing he was certain of is that he's miserable, he's a pitiful mess. He was glad, for a moment when he could actually think, that no one was there to see him like that; his own spittle burning holes in his favorite night shirt, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he begs the toilet water to make it stop because 'god doesn't listen to people like [him]'.

He couldn't remember what he'd done to find himself in that position. Couldn't remember if he was actually sick, or if he'd drunk himself that way or if he'd overdosed on something. Did they jack any painkillers from the last former hospital they'd occupied? His left forearm was torn to shreds by his own nails, so he'd done it himself, then.

He could almost see Magneto's disappointment in his delirium. Those hard, blue eyes and distinguished brow glaring down at him, one lip quirked slightly in a barely restrained display of disgust. He'd give the order, Toad thought, to remove himself from his sight until he was presentable, after giving him a glass of ice water. No- wait, he thought, shaking his head a bit, having to correct himself to keep from falling over. Magneto wouldn't go out of his way to bring him water. He'd point in the direction of the nearest tap.

But there was definitely a glass of water with ice cubes in it next to his leg. Maybe. It could have been another hallucination, like the porcelain bowl's aura. He reached out to touch it, expecting his fingers to pass through it. It nearly tipped over when they didn't.

It would have, had a hand not shot out and caught it. Someone helped him bring it to his lips and the cool water felt so, so good on his burning throat. He couldn't even care that drops escaped the corners of his just-too-wide mouth and dripped off of his chin. He whined when the glass was pulled away, but he supposed he deserved it, getting greedy, gulping water like he was.

"Sip," a gruff voice ordered, and Mortimer nodded weakly in response.

He moaned when he felt water touch his upper lip, letting his head be supported by another familiar hand. Toad couldn't bring himself to care that he was being manhandled, moved into a better position for his burly caretaker to control his water intake. He saw blonde hair out of the corner of his eye and had a good, water-bubbling chuckle at how the grim reaper looked like Sabretooth.

"Just what the fuck is so funny, kid?"

Oh wait- maybe that was the real Sabretooth. There was a long moment before he could think at all, much less of anything to say.

"I thought you weren't touching me," Mortimer said, letting his head lull to the side, something akin to a smirk stretching his lips.

Sabretooth urged Toad back into the position he found him in, sat the half glass on the floor and stood to leave without a word.

"Please don't leave," Mortimer whispered, trying to turn his head toward the door. A wave of dizziness came over him and he slumped back toward the toilet. "Please." He knew he'd hate himself even more later, if that were possible, but he couldn't stop the words he croaked out; "I'm sweating like a whore in church. You can lick me. Just stay, please."

Sabretooth snorted out a sigh and crouched down next to the pitiful brunette, taking the glass of water in hand. As he was assisted in taking small sips of water, Mortimer tried to remember if this was an attempt to kill himself of not. Sabretooth didn't say a word as he pushed the other's hair out of his face.

"Can you help me?"

"Isn't that what I'm doing?" Sabretooth asked, his voice holding only a mild hint of annoyance.

"I mean," Mortimer paused to lick his lips, and tried to swallow, but his throat was dry again, "with something else."

"Do you want help to bed?"

"I want to die," he breathed, reaching out for Sabretooth's other hand.

Out of pure shock, Victor let him take it, watching as the smaller man brings his hand to his throat, weakly pushing on the fingers until they curl around it. Victor wouldn't apply any pressure, and Mortimer tried to push into the strong fingers. He whined a plea to squeeze.

"You need a shower," Sabretooth said, taking his hand from the other's throat. He had no idea what to do with the admission, and had no desire to face any long-dead feelings it may bring back to life, so he ignored it. Toad groaned when he was lifted, letting his forehead fall against Sabretooth's shoulder.

Victor put the lid to the toilet down and eased the clinging dead weight onto it. "Work with me," he said, trying to pull Mortimer's shirt off without tearing it. But he doesn't, so Sabretooth took off the shirt one arm at a time, grimacing about how gentle he was being. "You're going to ruin my image, you little shit."

"You don't have to. I manage on my own," Mortimer says, pulling himself to his feet, braced on the sink. "Oh shit, I'm gonna be sick."

Sabretooth let out a brief, irritated growl, and turned to the tub. He adjusted the water, trying to figure out what would be a decent temperature for the other. He went with lukewarm.

"C'mon, let's get this over with."

Mortimer whimpered when a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, trying to stop the hand that reached for his boxers.

"I ain't gonna do anything like that. Just take off your fucking pants, so you can shower," Sabretooth growled, starting to lose his patience. "Jesus," he growled under his breath.

"You're religious?" Toad asked, letting Sabretooth yank his boxers down, trying to help by lifting one leg at a time.

"It's an expression," the blonde said, mocking the way Mortimer had spoken to him the last time they'd met. He threw the undergarment in the corner, frustrated with this stupid, he thought, predicament.

Sabretooth got a little rough when he pulled his naked ally against him, but found himself not caring too much. He leaned over to pull up the device that moves the flow of water to the shower head and shoved Mortimer under it.

The brunette groaned at the sudden moisture, but was soon writhing in near-pleasure as the sweat and other fluids flowed off of him. He clung to Sabretooth's arm, his lashes fluttering as he attempted to keep his eyes open. He wobbled a bit and Victor stepped into the bath to let the other lean on him.

"Your cl- oh-" Mortimer gasps, and then promptly vomits into his own hand. He tried, desperately, to keep the mess to himself, and Sabretooth is momentarily amused that the other's bile is lime green. Then pissed off because his shirt is ruined and- would you look at that- melting in places. "I'm sorry. I can't-"

"Just. Shut. Up," Sabretooth growled, pushing Mortimer into the wall to support himself while he removed his shirt, just shredding it and tossing the slivers of cotton aside. He figured he might as well lose his jeans too, just in case the other has anything left in his stomach. They hit the tiled floor with a wet slap and Mortimer is flushed, avoiding looking at the blonde, even when he takes a firm hold of him and starts washing him.

Sabretooth's hands are rough, the motions are rough, but despite that, Toad has never felt so pampered in his entire life. He wanted to communicate the thought, but couldn't, so he let himself be moved and washed, and tried to cooperate. Victor even washed his hair with the right soap.

Afterward, wrapped in a towel while he idly watches Sabretooth dry himself off, Mortimer admits to himself that he feels much better. Physically, at least. He took in the details of Sabretooth's body, watching from under wet hair as the blonde scrubbed a towel over himself, through thick, dirty-blonde chest hair, over a barely-there beer gut, through a forest of light brown pubic hair and over his flaccid length, lifting each leg to the edge of the tub. Toad almost giggled at the furry, toned ass presented to him. Maybe still a little out of it, he thought to himself and nodded.

"You can dry yourself, right?" Sabretooth asked, slinging his towel over his shoulder.

"I'll air-dry," Mortimer answers.

"No, you'll towel dry. I'm putting your ass in bed before I leave."

"Why?" Mortimer asked, looking up.

"Fuck if I know," Victor admits, taking Mortimer's towel from over his shoulders and scrubbing him down with it. He even dried each foot individually, moving the fabric between webbed toes, making Toad snort in an effort not to laugh. "Don't get used to this."

"Wasn't planning on it," was the response. "Wasn't planning on getting used to anything," an even quieter answer. "Wasn't planning on-" Mortimer's eyes widened briefly at the hand over his mouth.

"Now I see why the boss hates you so god damn much," Sabretooth growled, crouched between green legs. "You're so fucking pathetic. Wanting to, maybe trying to off yourself because- what? You're not attractive? Because you don't have a girlfriend? Because no one wants you?

"I've got news for you, you little brat; that's why we're all here. Nobody wants us.

"Fuck, you're not even listening, are you?" Sabretooth asked when he saw how Mortimer's eyes were averted. When lashes fluttered and those too-yellow, hazel eyes looked up at him, the desire to smash the tiny green face in left Victor and he felt the faintest hint of remorse. But it wasn't a strong enough feeling to do anything more than make him angrier. Sabretooth took his hand away and pulled Mortimer to his feet by one bicep. "Get to bed."

Lips parted and Mortimer looked down again, letting himself be led from the bathroom. The covers were thrown back with Sabretooth's free hand, and he pushed the smaller man into the bed. He went to the bathroom and returned with a glass of water and the waste bin, setting both of them within Mortimer's reach.

"Stay with me for a bit?" Mortimer barely gets out, just this side of sober, just chemically influenced enough to ask for something he wants. "It- it's nice to pretend for a bit."

"No," Sabretooth spat, glaring down at Toad. "We don't get to pretend," he said, glare unwavering. "I don't care about you. You're just another soldier, cannon fodder. I wouldn't lose any sleep if you died." The realization that those words are lies twists in his gut like his brother's claws, and he needs to get away. "Go to sleep. Get up in the morning."

He goes back to the bathroom to grab his wet jeans and wraps a towel around his waist before leaving, without looking back.

* * *

AN: I've never heard about blond/blonde having a relationship with gender. What I've always been told is "blond" is for "normal people" and "blonde" is for "stuck up, wannabe preppy people". Haha! I think "blond" looks unfinished. That's why I go with "blonde".


	7. Chapter 7

Mortimer is unable to meet Victor's gaze for days. He figures he should be able to, knowing he'll find no pity there, but the stunning purple and gold and red patterned tile he'd noticed a thousand times before is just so fucking fascinating.

Three days after the failed possible suicide attempt- he still wasn't sure if that's even what it was- he went back to the gym. It's the one Sabretooth uses; not that he needs to, Mortimer thinks with a quiet snort. The man is all muscle and raw power and everything he wants to be. He wonders if Sabretooth has ever wanted to change anything about his looks while he sets up a rack of weights.

Mutants he doesn't know come and go and Mortimer keeps on lifting, trying to wear himself out. Nothing on the schedule. Nothing to think about. Nothing to keep his mind from wandering to Sabretooth and death and drugs and the orphanage and-

"Been in here a while?"

Sabretooth.

Toad racks the bar and stares at it. "Maybe. I don't know," he admits, "came in at seven."

"It's nearly nine."

"Oh," smooth, he chastised himself.

"Hungry?"

"Not really."

"Lying sack of shit," Sabretooth grouses, getting that much more irritated when Mortimer doesn't look up. There's no banter. So Sabretooth fills the silence; "They had a feast tonight." He doesn't even wait for the other to respond. "You should have seen Fatass eat. Had a whole damn bird by himself."

The ends of Toad's mouth quirk just a little bit, even as he sits up, hands between his thighs on the bench in front of him.

"That kid could eat someone out of house and home."

"Is everyone a kid to you?"

Sabretooth watches Toad not watching him. Intentionally looking everywhere but the big blonde.

"Yeah. Shit, you're all babies. Even the boss-man," Victor says with a small smirk. "I'm gonna ask you again," he says, walking around to lean on the racked weights, closer to Mortimer. "You hungry?"

"Is 'yes' what you want to hear?"

Brown hair blocks Sabretooth's view of the other's expression, but he's sure it's an unpleasant one. The longest parts of his hair come down to just past his chin. He's growing it out, Sabretooth muses, because of my comment. He feels a little bit of pride, then anger as he returns to the moment at hand.

"I want the truth, you brat," he said, holding one clawed hand up in an impatient gesture.

"I don't know. I don't really feel hunger anymore," Toad said, trying not to shake. He figured taking the pressure off of his overworked arms would help stop the quaking in his shoulders, the occasional pectoral spasm. It didn't.

"Then how do you know you need to eat?" Sabretooth asked, his voice a half growl.

Mortimer flinched when he felt fingers on the back of his neck, and almost missed the question. Too-warm fingers on sensitive, moist skin. When the fingers withdrew, he glanced at Sabretooth through his hair, watching the other lick his fingers clean. "I get headaches," he answered quietly.

Sabretooth scoffed. He leaned over the bar and pressed his lips to the back of the other's neck. He kissed, maybe; it was a harsh, rough thing that would bruise someone without a healing factor- it would probably leave a bruise on Mortimer for a few hours. Then the tongue flicked out, making Mortimer's shivering increase tenfold. The long thing wrapped a quarter of the way around his neck and molded perfectly to every bump and curve of his skin and muscle. Fingers of hands that nearly covered his entire face pressed to his temples, and Toad really, really wanted to see how Sabretooth was positioned. He couldn't be comfortable, leaned over the rack like that.

"Do you have a headache now?" Sabretooth almost snarled against the skin of Mortimer's shoulder.

"No," Mortimer responded breathlessly. How could he, he thought, with meaty, wonderful, hardened fingers caressing him just so.

The fingers moved away, one set at a time, for Victor to suck on them. Mortimer figured he should have been disgusted by spit-slick fingers pressing back to his temples, but he wasn't. He couldn't be, lost in the sensation of the sorriest excuse for a temple massage ever.

"Still need to eat," Sabretooth drawled, face pressed to Mortimer's hair for a moment. "C'mon ya little shit," he said, pulling away. "Fatass was asking about you during dinner, like I would know where you were."

Mortimer groaned at the loss of contact. He blinked a few times. "You found me, didn't you?"

"I guessed. I didn't know you'd be here. I don't care enough to remember your schedule," Sabretooth said, ambling slowly toward the door. The words tasted a little too sweet, admitting that he might care just the slightest bit, but that could also be Toad's sweat, he figured.

The fact that Freddy had asked about him made Mortimer's skin tingle pleasantly. Well, pleasantly in places that Sabretooth hadn't slobbered on. But perhaps there too, in a different way.

"Come here," Sabretooth ordered. "Don't make me move you myself. It won't be a... Pleasant experience."

Toad got to his feet without thinking about how he just followed orders.

"Coming out shirtless?" Victor teased.

Mortimer mumbled under his breath and looked around for the shirt he'd discarded. He slipped it on and it barely held on to his shoulders. It was too big, a relic from before he lost the weight. A glance at the towering blonde showed that he was amused, a little intoxicated, and Mortimer turned his gaze to the floor again. He followed Sabretooth by watching his boots.

He found himself in a dining room; the table still a mess with the remnants of the other's supper. In one place, the dishes had been pushed aside, a few broken from their rough treatment, to clear a space for one solitary plate, a fork and a glass of water.

"Eat," Sabretooth ordered.

Then Mortimer finally looked at him.

He stared, confused, mildly irritated. He searched Sabretooth's face for any sign of what this meant. He told himself not to react to the sweat on his palms, not to wipe it on his shorts, not to clench his fists.

"Believe it or not, it was Fatass' idea. He said someone should take you some food, but fuck it. You're the type who would rather eat at a table like a human, and it's less work for me, so pick up the fork and stuff your face, you skinny little bastard." Sabretooth stuck his pinky in his ear and twisted, scratching, cleaning maybe. His brow was scrunched in mild annoyance and his other hand was in his pocket, but he didn't seem likely to fly into a homicidal rage at the moment.

Mortimer picked at strips of turkey and pierogi and some sort of bun-thing and wondered if it was a holiday. He ate breaded, fried green-beans with a small smile and a quirked brow. Sabretooth seemed content, standing by the sink, so Mortimer just ate. He consumed everything on the plate and downed the glass of water.

When he went to the sink to refill it, Sabretooth leaned over to bury his nose in the soft hairs at the base of Mortimer's skull, under the growing top layer, nudging it up since it was too long to ignore. Mortimer tensed, stopped, leaving the cold water running. The burly blonde was making a purring noise in the back of his throat, one hand coming to rest on Mortimer's hip.

"Sa~bretooth," Toad whispered, flushing at the crack in his voice.

"Shh," Victor hissed, still nuzzling. "I must be out of my mind," is what Mortimer thought Victor said, but wasn't too sure, as the other's words were just a growled garble of consonants.

Shaky green digits found the hand at his hip. The fingers around the delicate, jutting bone tightened, like they knew Toad was going to pry them away. It was almost painful, but Mortimer bore it, running the pads of his fingers down Sabretooth's wrist. He felt out the veins that bulged out of the back of the other's hand, the dips between metacarpals, the large, knobby knuckles. He soothed the pads of his fingers over the length of Sabretooth's, the hair there soft, fading just before the second knuckle. Victor's fingers were massive; four of Mortimer's just barely covering three.

He moved down to the other's nails, mindful of his own as he felt out the rough cuticles, the jagged, bumpy planes of the nails and their broken or rough tips. Mortimer grimaced at a particularly bad break with a chunk missing, and chuckled to himself at his absurd desire to give the other a manicure.

The jostling movement pressed Victor's lips against Toad's spine and he gasped, gripping the glass hard. He was surprised he didn't break it. He was surprised he didn't startle Sabretooth away when he forced his fingers between the ones on his hip, when he caressed and tugged on the taut skin there, so different from his own webbed pleats.

He stilled when the lips pressed more firmly, sucking in air desperately, but trying to keep his chest from rising too much. He kept himself from pushing back into the touch.

"Not here," Mortimer whispered. He let out an exasperated sigh when Sabretooth stood up straight. He turned with Sabretooth's hand as it pulled away, not wanting the contact to end just yet.

But it did. The contact ended and Sabretooth stepped back.

"Wa-"

"Your room, then," Victor said, taking a few slow steps toward the archway leading to the hallway.

"I have to- to clean up this mess," Mortimer said, his lips drawing down in a frown as he glanced from the blonde to the table.

"Fuck it. Leave it."

"But, it's kinda what I do," Mortimer shot back, gaining a bit of nerve.

"Someone else will get it. There's a lot of," Sabretooth paused to think of a word, "a lot of other bootlickers around here."

"Bootlick- Hey!" Confusion turned to irritation in a split second, and Mortimer put the glass in the sink then turned off the water.

Sabretooth chuckled, warm and deep and he put both hands in his pockets. The tug of his fists in the fabric only served to outline his erection, but the blonde didn't seem to care.

"Yeah, I think I like that a little better than 'Jumpy'. You're 'Bootlicker' now," he said with a wide, lopsided grin.

Mortimer followed a chuckling Sabretooth to his own room, grinding his teeth.

With the door shut behind them, Victor sat on Mortimer's bed like he owned it. He kicked off his boots and sprawled out while the other watched.

"You comin'?"

"You're not fucking me," Mortimer warned, splaying webbed fingers on the rumpled sheets.

"I don't have the coordination for that right now," Sabretooth said, licking his lips afterward. "I barely got my damn shoes off. It's been a couple months since the clinic, so, I'm gone right now."

"Then what?" Mortimer asked, putting one knee on the bed. His arms quivered as he tried to support himself on them.

"Then lay down, sleep off the food cramps and let me keep the high goin'. That's what."

"Food cramps," Mortimer groused and huffed through his nose, but laid down anyway, with his back to Sabretooth. One thick arm wrapped around his torso and pulled him close.

The blankets and pillows were all bunched up in one corner, so Mortimer's only option to rest his head was Sabretooth's bicep. It was silently offered, and he took it. Lips and tongue found the back of his neck yet again, and Mortimer was surprised that he didn't feel as violated this time. He couldn't have been sweating that much, but didn't voice his thought. He didn't want the half-assed embrace to end, not when the beast of a man was letting him trace the knuckles of the hand on his stomach and rest his head on the python of an arm. He felt comfortable. He'd question the feeling later.

Sabretooth dozed off, face buried in stringy brown locks. Mortimer snickered at the way Sabretooth growled and snorted in his sleep and wondered if his sweat was giving the other trippy dreams.


	8. Chapter 8

Mortimer woke to a pleasant smell. Eggs. Bacon. Sausage. A carnivore's delight of a breakfast on his bedside stand. He picked a sausage patty off the plate and bit into it before he realized what he was doing.

The taste woke him up, told him it wasn't a dream, but real food. He licked his lips and blinked the sleep from his eyes, looking around the room. No Sabretooth. The food was still warm.

He no longer had the desire to put another piece of meat in his mouth when he realized that they'd cuddled the previous night. In his room. In his bed. His bed where the covers were bunched up in the corner where he pressed himself into the walls, the hard metal under faux-wood finished plastic. His blankets and pillows were still bunched up in the familiar almost-cocoon shape he left them in. It was the only way he could sleep in a bed, he'd thought, if it was pressed up against a corner and he made himself as small as possible on top of the pillows, under the blankets, but in clear view of the door. So he could see if anyone came in.

But he'd fallen asleep with Sabretooth's arm over him. Lying out nearly straight. With no chemical influence. Then, he briefly wondered if his mutation made him super sensitive to the chemicals in turkey that made one drowsy. He hadn't made his bed the previous day. His mind was a jumble of unpleasant, worrisome thoughts with a warm glow niggling at him under it all.

He took up the fork next to the plate that was left for him and ate quickly, barely tasting it before swallowing. He smoothed out the covers on his bed as best he could, giving the room an air of normalcy. He changed into a pair of slacks and a polo, grabbed his dishes, and hurried from his room to the kitchen.

He'd managed to do a little something, cleaning up a bit before Blob stopped him for a brief chat, to ask him if he'd eaten yet, to remind Toad that he was getting thin. Mortimer managed to politely excuse himself at the rumbling in his stomach, managed to not smack the shit out of one of the very few people he actually considered a friend, and head to the nearest restroom.

He leaned over the toilet bowl, steadying himself on the tank. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried to 'find his center'. What he found was that his stomach had shrunk too much over the past few years to hold down two full meals nearly in a row.

"Purging yourself of my hospitality?"

Also, that he forgot to close the door.

Mortimer shook his head in the negative. "Just ate too much."

"That was a kids meal sized plate."

Mortimer turned a glare at Sabretooth as he wiped his mouth with a few squares of toilet tissue and threw it in the bowl before flushing.

"You ain't gonna wash out your mouth?"

"Why? Want a kiss?" Toad spat.

Sabretooth grinned. "There's the fire."

"I need to get back to work," Mortimer said, attempting to push past Sabretooth.

"I was thinkin' we could spar. You've been out of commission for a while on the account of your depression, so you could use some, uh, situational, real-time training."

"My stomach is too upset for that."

"I'll go easy on you," Sabretooth teased, still blocking the other's exit.

Toad hopped to the ceiling and crawled through the foot-and-a-half space between the top of Victor's head and the door frame. The blonde watched with amusement as Toad crawled half-way down the wall and then leapt off.

"It ain't doing you any good, ya know. You got the natural skills, so why don't you hone 'em? Be a fighter instead of a janitor."

"I'm only any good at fighting humans. Put me up against a mutant and I'm only good at running away." Toad was looking down the hall for anyone that may overhear when he spoke.

"We need those kinds, too, I guess. Stealth shit. You climb walls. You're quiet. I don't really see why we need it, but the boss seems to think so.

"I'd rather just go in and tear everything down by force, but I guess this way is interesting, too." Sabretooth shrugged, his heavy shoulders rolling. It probably took a lot more effort than it looked like it took. "But, ya know, with those legs, that tongue, and those girly-assed nails of yours, you could be a force to be reckoned with."

Mortimer spun on one heel to face Victor. He had been about to walk away. "My nails are not girly," he hissed.

"Bullshit. That's the kind of shit you see in magazines," Sabretooth said, pointing to one of Mortimer's clenched fists.

"And how would you know?"

"I ain't above flippin' through a magazine when I'm bored, kid.

"Apparently, sharp nails were _'tres chic'_ for a while. In the seventies."

A grin split Sabretooth's maw at the frustration on Mortimer's features. He decided to keep picking. "Ya know, during the height of all that feminism shit," he leaned on the doorframe, watching Toad clench his fists. He could hear the skin creaking. "I think it's kind of stupid, to be honest. The only people that matter are the ones that can fight. If a female can fight, sure, bring her along. If not, fuck it. She can die with the rest of the weaklings.

"That why you act the way you do, Bootlicker? Ya hidin' your femininity from us? Ya got a vergina under there?" Sabretooth could barely keep himself from laughing. "Why you gettin' so pissed off? Makes you look sexist, or something." His teeth clacked together as he bit down to keep from falling into a guffaw.

"You've seen me naked," Mortimer hissed, his cheeks darkening.

"Yeah, but I ain't never seen you get hard. It could've been a really good prop." After a pause, Sabretooth added; "Don't know where you would have got a green one, though."

"This conversation is over," Mortimer said, uncurling one fist to push his hair back out of his face. He scowled at the blonde.

"Don't be like that, sweetcheeks," Sabretooth called at the retreating form. He howled a laugh when he received a middle finger.

Victor followed the angry brunette, hot on his heels. Mortimer sped up and the length of Sabretooth's casual strides increased. He nearly tripped over the smaller man when he stopped and turned to face him.

"What do you want?"

Sabretooth loosely pinned Mortimer to the wall, caged in only by those powerful arms. He could duck down and get away if he wanted to. "I wanna fight you," the blonde purred, leaning in close. His hair tickled Mortimer's nose and cheek as he spoke right into his ear; "I want to hold you down after I win and lick all the sweat off of you, get high as fuck."

"You assume you'll even be able to catch me," Mortimer said, crossing his arms. His shirt felt uncomfortable about the armpits that way, but he'd be damned if he gave Sabretooth the satisfaction of bracing himself on him.

"Done it before, haven't I?"

"In enclosed spaces."

"Then prove me wrong. That'd be a thrill. Almost as much as gettin' high off of you. No one's been able to prove me wrong in a long time."

The way Victor purred the word 'long' had Mortimer drawing in a breath and turning his head away.

"There's more, isn't there?" Oh, how he mentally kicked himself for the breathy, nearly whiny tone of his voice.

"Mmh. Well, sure, I'd like ta fuck ya, but I can get that elsewhere, since you don't seem so inclined." Sabretooth was breathing against Mortimer's too-dry skin, his exposed neck.

"Why?" Mortimer asked, brow scrunched. He drew the nails of his right hand over his left forearm, barely resisting the urge to dig then in. His skin tingled and itched in so many places and he couldn't risk making Sabretooth mad by scratching the spot his lips occasionally brushed.

"Fuck if I know. My dick just tells me it wants to be buried in you. Can't say I'd mind watching you wiggle around on it."

Toad's lips parted in a silent moan when Sabretooth's tongue found the first bits of forming sweat at his hairline. Being boxed in under Sabretooth's heat, his heavy shirt, the heavy air- Mortimer couldn't help sweating. He uncrossed his arms and put his hands on the other's biceps, pushing back the slightest bit.

"So, are we gonna fight or what?" Sabretooth asked, pulling back enough that he could meet the other's eyes, that Toad could see him grinning.

Mortimer blinked and Victor snorted. The brunette looked between them, standing up straighter, pressing himself against the wall. "While you have an erection?"

"You'll have the advantage until it goes away."

There was a long silence while Mortimer thought it over. The sounds of unhurried footsteps could be heard in the distance.

"Fine. But somewhere where you can't just reach up and grab me if I get on the ceiling." His eyes widened a bit and his head jerked up to meet Sabretooth's gaze again. "And you don't get to fuck me if you win."

"I still get ta lick you, right?"

"Like anything I say will stop you," Mortimer deadpanned. When he saw Sabretooth's grin fading into a snarl, Mortimer's inner people pleasing tendencies reared their ugly heads. "If you win, alright?"

With the grin back in place, Sabretooth pulled away from Mortimer, who could breathe right again, and the wall.

An hour later found Toad with his bare back pressed to the wall, held up around his basketball short-clad thighs with Victor's meaty paws. He'd forgotten just how high the blonde could leap if he wanted to. He anchored himself with his feet, pushing them against Sabretooth's thighs to keep their pelvises from touching.

One hand roughly petted his hair before pushing it aside, to give Victor access to the rivulets of sweat that dripped down the other's jaw and neck. A nip and suck on his chin had Mortimer closing his eyes, his mouth falling open in time for that rough tongue to swipe over his bottom lip. Sabretooth paused briefly before diving back into licking over Mortimer's temples, his hairline, his eyelids, though gently over the thin and tender flesh.

"Can I-?" Mortimer whispered, brushing his fingers over the long blonde hair that hung down between them. He gripped the bicep of Sabretooth's arm that supported them tightly while he waited for a response.

"Yeah, sure," Sabretooth slurred against Mortimer's hairline. He used his free hand to maneuver Toad higher, so he could lick and suck the moisture from his chest. He growled at the tug on his hair when his tongue brushed a dark, pebbled nipple. Sabretooth purred into the other's armpit when Mortimer drug his nails over his scalp, tugging softly on the golden strands. He closed his eyes and sucked hard on Mortimer's skin, trying to jerk his hips forward. "Fuck," he growled around the flesh and Mortimer whimpered.

His whimper turned into a cry of surprise when Sabretooth suddenly put Mortimer on his own two feet and dropped to his knees. He tried to lock them in place, but they gave out and he tugged harshly on those glorious, tangled locks. Nails bit into his thighs as Sabretooth pushed him back against the freezing wall. Toad curled over the other, clutching his massive shoulders, still pulling on his hair with one hand as that awful, wonderful tongue laved over his hipbone, and down to the waistband of his shorts.

Mortimer started to panic when Sabretooth pulled at his shorts. He dug his nails in to Sabretooth's back and pulled, drawing a strangled near-roar from the blonde. Victor bit down on the other's hip bone and sucked.

"S-stop," Mortimer begged, pulling his nails from the already healing skin, having to tug hard.

"You," Sabretooth said, standing, supporting himself on the wall, supporting Mortimer with his biceps, "are the only man on the fucking planet that would turn down a fucking blow-job."

The brunette bit his plush bottom lip and Sabretooth couldn't resist his urge to run his tongue over it. He moaned into the opening mouth, dizzy with drug and sensation, lazily plundering the hot orifice. When Mortimer wrapped his tongue around Sabretooth's and sucked, the blonde growled. He pulled back suddenly and slammed the shorter man into the wall, hard, making Mortimer cry out in pain.

"Fuck," Sabretooth said again, pulling back.

Mortimer slid to the floor and desperately gulped down air. He put one hand to his lips and the other between bent knees, trying to hide the fact that he'd gotten aroused from just that kiss.

"Where-" he panted, looking up through drying strands of hair.

"To jerk off," Sabretooth growled, hobbling away, his dizzy cant awkward with a throbbing erection.

"Oh."

"Yeah."


	9. Chapter 9

Toad unlatched, re-locked and checked the lock four times before he was satisfied with the door actually being locked. He quickly moved to his bed, undoing the work he'd done earlier that day, piling the pillows and blankets like he was going to sleep there, fluffing one out so it would look like he was under the blanket. It wouldn't fool anyone for very long but, he figured, the time it would buy would be enough.

He hurried to the bathroom, flushed with embarrassment. He shut and locked the door, checking it twice. He groaned, bracing himself on the sink, thinking about how awful of an idea it had been to fight in the main hall of their living quarters. Even worse was the running- hopping up the stairs and down a hall, around the corner, to his room, all with a throbbing erection. Fuck, from just one fucking kiss. And now, Mortimer thought, now Sabretooth knows my fucking weakness.

He rubbed his lips with one hand, his tongue darting out to brush his fingers, almost against his will. Eyes closed tightly, he could almost pretend his were someone else's lips. Anyone's, he pleaded with himself, anyone but Sabretooth. But he found himself unable to concentrate on his usual fantasies.

He'd been growing to hate his Wanda fantasy in recent months. Not because of Victor, but because she'd already chosen someone else. He couldn't help but remember that every time he'd thought of her. Pretty, skinny little blondes; women with tiny waists and big breasts, plush lips and perky nipples, men, hairless save for their heads with sharp hipbones and toned butts- none of the usual was working for him. He pulled his hand from his mouth and slammed it down on the counter a bit too hard, cussing at the pain that shot up his arm.

He took a deep breath and sighed.

The kiss with Sabretooth hadn't lasted more than a few seconds, but-"god," he breathed- his half hard prick had jumped to attention as their lips fit together. The sensation of the rough tongue trapped, wrapped in his left his mouth tingling from the scrape of microscopic hooks that tugged in a positively delightful way.

He pushed his shorts down to mid-thigh, cursed Sabretooth and took his engorged length in hand. He wanted to put his fingers back at his lips, make them tingle like they had been just a minute ago, but he had to support himself on the edge of the sink with his free hand. Mortimer parted his lips and licked them, whimpering as he tugged urgently on his straining prick.

It didn't take long to reach his peak, one knee bending slightly, drawing up against his body, then going limp. He clutched the sink as his legs threatened to dump him on the tiled floor. He panted, carefully holding himself until he went flaccid, then proceeded to clean himself, and the sink cabinet- yuck- off once he could trust his legs again.

With a heavy sigh, he prepared to take a quick shower. He didn't really plan on sudsing up, just washing the fluids away and enjoying the warm spray for a minute.

After that minute was over, he thought about curling up in bed. He decided against it, however, when he realized how early it still was. He didn't want to leave his room for a few hours, though. Or, at least, until the bruises he'd gotten from his scuffle/make-out session with Sabretooth had healed.

There was nothing to do in his room, he noticed. Sure, he had a small collection of battered old books, but he'd read each several times. He was at a point with a couple of them where he could recite lines and tell someone what chapter they were from. He had the beer tabs in the drawer of the bedside stand, now that he was staying someplace stable. He looked at them, touched them, turned them over in his hands, even absently chewed on one as he tried to figure out what was going on with his life these days.

He knew he'd have to face the feelings Sabretooth roused in him soon, but it wasn't something he was looking forward to. He could, however, admit to himself that he liked being close to the other when he wasn't trying to fuck him. The intimate touching was nice, caressing his hand, feeling his hair, getting to know the boxy face with his fingertips... Toad sighed out loud before he could stop himself. He spat the tab into the drawer with a huff of annoyance. He still didn't know enough about the blonde's personality to know if they could make a relationship work, but he highly doubted it.

What he'd seen of the other suggested a one-dimensional personality, openly displaying his simplistic emotions. That wasn't something Mortimer was sure he could handle unless affection was one of those open displays. But, that was something the blonde's calloused heart wouldn't be capable of, he was sure of it. Even if he did want to keep Mortimer well-fed and in shape.

Toad ran sharp-nailed fingers through wet hair, staring at the ground between his feet, not even realizing he'd perched himself on the edge of his bed. He thought about asking for an assignment somewhere else, maybe even cleaning the prisons where enraged, misbehaving and X-Men allied mutants caused untold levels of destruction, destroying the walls of their cells and even went so far as to smear bodily excretions on the walls. Sabretooth surely wouldn't follow him there, and Magneto would be glad to get him off his back. Surely.

His thoughts only grew darker as he allowed himself to indulge in the painful line of reasoning, and the thunderous knock on the door made him twitch and pull out a few strands of hair. He didn't want to answer the door, but did anyway, figuring it could be the boss summoning for him.

"Hey, Freddy," he said, looking up at the giant. A plate of something akin to scones was shoved into a surprised Mortimer's hands. They were tiny little triangular things with bits of what was possibly fruit showing. Almost cute.

"You like those, right?" Fred asked.

"You assume I like scones because I'm a Brit?" Mortimer said, teasingly, though there was an edge of irritation to his voice.

"Hey, whatever. They're cakes with fruit in 'em. I didn't know it was a British thing. Some new chick made 'em and I snagged a few for you, so shoot me," Freddy said, his shoulders sagging.

"I appreciate it," Toad said quietly, "but I don't have the stomach for more food right now."

"But you're getting so skinny," Blob tried to reason.

"Because I've been working out, wanker," Mortimer hissed, somewhere between playful and scathing.

"Mmhm. You dropped two sizes in two months because you were working out, okay," Freddy said sarcastically, crossing his arms.

"Do I hear a hint of jealousy?" Mortimer teased.

"Oh, fuck off, Toad." The deep frown that creased his friend's fat face made Mortimer feel bad. His own resulting frown nearly matched the other's expression.

"I was just kidding, mate. I appreciate the sweets. Did you want something else?"

"Why don't we go do something like we used to, huh? Make fun of stuff. Ya always used to make me laugh. No one else here has a sense of humor quite like yours. I'm getting bored without you. Thinkin' about going back to the circus."

"Why, though?" Toad asked, moving out of the doorway to allow his friend in, setting the scones on his bedside stand. He shut the drawer he'd left open with his hip and sat on the bed, motioning to the end for Blob to sit. "You're so useful. You're a fucking tank."

Fred sat on the end of the bed and Mortimer made a point of not mentioning how the other end of the mattress popped up and would have flung him into the other if he hadn't anticipated it and hooked his sharp-nailed hands and feet into it. He'd gotten used to this scenario by now. He found a comfortable position to face Blob and waited for his answer.

"We're just means to an end, Morty," he said, shrugging again. "I mean, it was the same in the circus. Just a bunch of freaks to be made money off of. But it wasn't so hectic, so boring. I didn't know it was even possible to be busy and bored at the same time."

"Yeah, mate, but think about what this end means. A better world for mutants, no humans to subjugate us. Any humans that are even left will be reverent, subservient. Won't even fucking need money," Mortimer said. He soon realized that he developed a potty mouth around Fred.

"But with the boss at the helm..."

"Hell, I'm sure he will want to remain in one place and give control of other countries to his 'lieutenants'. I'm sure that means us, too. I mean, we will probably only get cities, like mayoral positions, not that mayors have any place in a tyranny, and have to answer to someone like Mystique or Sabretooth, but eh. It'll be worth it mate. Just hang in there." Toad grinned impishly to himself, thinking that he should be a motivational speaker for the revolution. Then he wondered if he was bipolar and nearly snorted out loud.

"Yeah, speaking of Sabretooth," Blob started.

Ah, shit. Mortimer's blood ran cold. "What about 'im?"

"You've become a recluse since you've started fucking around with Sabretooth," Fred said with a raised brow.

"I'm not 'fucking around' with anyone, mate," Toad stated, his tone low and warning.

"Could have fooled me."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Any time I see you anymore, you're with him. Now, remember this; I don't give a fuck about who you fuck, but I don't want you to stop being the funny asshole you were when I first joined up with this... Thing."

"I'm not fucking Sabretooth! Jesus!" Toad barked.

"Of course not. He'd be fucking you," Fred said, brow back up.

Mortimer snorted and bit his lip, trying not to laugh. He wanted to stay mad, but couldn't. He burst out into a short fit of laughter, finally clamping down on his tongue with his teeth to end it. "Christ, mate. How many other people think I'm in some sort of relationship with the fur-brained oaf?"

"Quicksilver, for sure. Some others."

"Well, I'm not," Mortimer said, a little uncertain, wondering if that was a lie. "He's just been concerned about my health, that's all." And, ya know, we cuddle and make out and shit.

"That ain't like him."

"It ain't like you to be so worried about trivial bullshit, either, mate."

"It's not trivial if it's hurting you. But it sure is bullshit."

Toad sighed, closing his eyes and smacking himself in the forehead with his palm and dragging it down over his face. "Look, I'm fine. Really. I just had a rough couple of weeks. Ya wanna go make fun of the statues that look like dicks?"

"There's statues that look like dicks here?"

"Oh, Christ, mate. They're everywhere. You'd start to think it's all the boss-man has on his mind."

"Really?"

"Come on, let me show you," Mortimer said, nodding his head towards the door. He hopped from the bed and motioned for Fred to follow.

"Mind if I tag along?" Sabretooth drawled from where he leaned against the doorframe. "I wanna see if the statues actually look like dicks or if you've just got dick on the brain." His grin was toothy and wide as he looked back and forth between Blob and Toad.

Mortimer seemed to sigh with his entire body and looked back to Fred, who stood up and fixed the skewed mattress. After it was back in place, the bigger man shrugged.

"It was fine when he tagged along in D.C. Don't see why it would be any different now. Not like we can really stop him from following us, anyway. He's only mildly annoying."

"Nice to know what you really think of me, Fatass," Sabretooth quipped, still grinning.

"Fuck you too, Furball," Blob shot back.

Toad snickered, then sighed, then shook his head. "Alright, come on. We have some phalic artwork to make fun of," Toad said, snatching a scone off of the plate on the table. He nibbled on it as he walked out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

After "_Die Penisstatuenführung_" as Mortimer called it, and Sabertooth being mildly impressed with his German as another pot-shot at their boss, things returned to relatively normal. Nearly so because Sabretooth still found Mortimer after his workouts to steal away a few drops of his sweat with his wicked tongue. Even when Freddy and Morty had been in the gym together. The first time it happened, Mortimer barely talked Blob out of decking Sabretooth, but he soon came to accept it as just another strange thing that happened around the Magneto barracks.

Sensing the easing of tension, even Quicksilver had started hanging around with them again, and the addition of a newbie deemed Pyro, all of Toad's time was occupied. It was several weeks before Toad even got a day to himself. But, of course, Mortimer inwardly chastised, he wasn't allowed to have even one day. Unless he was falling to pieces, which he wasn't at the moment, so he begrudgingly accepted the invitation to lunch with Sabretooth.

Or, that's what he thought it was as the blonde brawler stalked up to him and growled the word 'food' as if it were an order.

He responded with a questioning "sure?" and followed Sabretooth silently to a diner, of all the places.

Money wasn't an issue where they were; all one big, happy family on the outside. They were presented with coffee and sugar and cream and smiles. Of course Sabretooth drank his black. But, he didn't say a word as Mortimer loaded his with sugar and the barest hint of thick, rich cream.

Sabretooth snorted at the look of shock on Toad's features at his order of four hamburgers and a side of fries, then urged him to order by kicking him in the shin under the table. Mortimer asked for a turkey club with no sides and Sabretooth rolled his eyes. The smaller male kicked back at that. As the waiter walked away, Sabretooth pinned Mortimer's shoe to the ground under his boot. The other slipped his foot out of the leather and pushed at the other's lumpy knee.

"You cheat," Victor taunted, smirking.

"I did not! We didn't define any rules for this... Game!" Mortimer hissed quietly, his cheeks darkening the slightest bit.

"I didn't think I'd have to tell ya ta keep your shoe on."

"Whatever," Toad said, bringing his mug to his lips simply to hide his embarrassment. "Why did you bring me out here anyway?" It was quiet, barely more than a breath, but he knew Sabretooth heard him.

"Changing the subject, spoiled sport? Ah," Sabretooth teased, leaning back and spreading his arms over the backrest. They spanned more than the length of the thing, and he had to bend one not to bump the window. "I thought you should eat."

"You think that a lot."

"I think the right thing."

They watched each other, Sabretooth in amusement, Toad warily, until their food arrived. Their waiter looked a little concerned at the tension between them, and Victor tried to provide a little relief by smiling in his general direction. That only made their server more concerned at all the sharp, terrifying teeth, and he hurried away. Sabretooth frowned and waved one hand dismissively before tearing into one of his hamburgers.

Mortimer picked at his sandwich, his foot still in contact with Sabretooth, having slipped down his leg to rest against his calf, on top of his boot. He didn't seem to mind. They ate in silence, the server returning once to refill their coffee.

Once Mortimer finished his sandwich, Victor pushed his fries forward. The brunette sighed and picked one up, just to placate the other. He ate a few, then pushed the plate back.

"I'm full."

"Eat more," Victor commanded.

"I can't, mate," was the wary response.

"You can, you just don't want to."

"I don't want to feel bloated and useless."

"Eat more often, then," and the words were final, discussion ending. Sabretooth reached out for his cup and downed the rest of his coffee. "You ready to go?"

"Go where?"

"I figured we'd cause some chaos," Victor said with a shrug.

"And get chewed out by the boss? I don't think so."

"Pussy."

"Projecting your qualities on me, love?" Mortimer teased, slipping his shoe back on. At Sabretooth's growl, Toad launched himself from the table and ran out the door. Finding Sabretooth right behind him, he dropped to all fours and started hopping, kicking up rocks in his haste.

"You'll never catch me outside!" Toad yelled, then chuckled to himself, taking to a well-constructed fire-escape. He hopped to the outside rim of each level and propelled himself up, keeping just out of Sabretooth's reach.

Here, Mortimer was in his element; open air, but with obstacles to climb on and put between himself and his opponent.

On top of the building, he ducked behind an entry-way and waited for Sabretooth to round the corner, clinging to the wall just above where Victor's head would be. When the blonde looked around the corner and wrinkled his nose, in a way that Mortimer found almost cute, as he tried to discern the others location by scent, the brunette hocked a wad of sticky mucus at the other. Sabretooth barely avoided it with a startled curse, and launched himself after Toad.

Their game went on for a while, scaring passersby into hiding. Down a nearly deserted street; from the ruckus they'd caused, no doubt, Mortimer thought as he slowed down and made a sharp turn, jumping into a row of bushes off to the side of the clean sidewalk. Sabretooth came barreling after him, tearing clear through a bush to try to get at Toad, who let himself get caught.

They tumbled to the ground, Mortimer laughing all the while as Victor huffed out a sound of joy at his success.

"Oh, we are going to have to fix that bush," Mortimer complained, even as he smiled, letting himself be pinned to the grass by Victor's bulk. He let one arm rest in the grass above his head and moved his other hand to brush through golden curls, then trace a finger over the other's exposed collarbone. He carefully minded his nails, almost dainty and certainly reverent.

"Ain't my problem," Sabretooth said, watching the other's eyes follow the path his finger took.

"We'll get yelled at," Mortimer reasoned, sagging a bit, pulling his hand away only to curl it around Victor's bicep. He hummed quietly when Sabretooth leaned in to lick at his throat, tilting his head back to give the other access.

"You mistake me for someone who gives a shit," the blonde purred against the moist skin of Toad's neck. His tongue was far more merciful than his words as he lapped up the sudor, not even bothering an attempt to restrain the supine form beneath him. "Someone else will get it."

"You always say that," Mortimer said, though he didn't sound like he was complaining.

"You always say too much," was Victor's response before he tried to claim the other's lips. He growled when he was denied and met a sweat-slick, flushed cheek.

"I'm not saying 'no'," Mortimer started, tightening his grip on the flexing muscle under his fingers, "just not here. We're in public, love." He immediately regretted the pet name, watching the other for his reaction warily.

Sabretooth frowned- actually frowned! Mortimer marveled- not scowling or snarling, but frowned, almost pouting in his intoxication. It must've come on quick, Mortimer thought, watching various expressions claim Victor's features.

"Your place or mine?"

"We need to talk about this," Mortimer said with a heavy sigh.

"What is there to talk about?" Honest curiosity, Toad noted, not anger.

"A lot, love. Now let me up so we can go back to my room."

After regarding Mortimer for a few moments, Sabretooth leaned down to lick a stripe up the side of his face before getting to his feet. He blinked slowly, then smirked as he watched Toad wipe his face with his hand and make a displeased noise. They walked back to the compound in silence, Sabretooth swaying a bit every so many steps.

As they passed the threshold, the staff entryway, Sabretooth paused to lean on the doorframe for a moment and grin at Toad.

"The longer I go without it, the better it feels," he admitted, toothy grin in place. Mortimer knew he meant the drug he produced, but the lecherous grin and the tone of voice gave him an uncomfortable chill.

"My room," was all he said before hopping off.

Sabretooth found Mortimer straightening out the already made bed, and kicked the door shut behind him. It rattled in the frame, but Toad couldn't bring himself to look. He sighed when thick arms wrapped around him, and meaty paws found his midsection.

"Start talking," Sabretooth stated.

"Will you remember anything I say?" Toad asked before swallowing thickly. He brought his hands up to Victor's and got a feel for them. "Will you-" he sighed, "will you let me fix your nails?"

"After you tell me what this is." Sabretooth tightened his grip and suckled at the back of Mortimer's neck. Toad held his breath for a moment.

"It would be easier if I had something to distract myself, mate," he said, drawing his nails up the back of Victor's hands, then soothing the pads of his fingers down over the already-vanishing welts.

"So, no sex?"

"Again, I'm not saying 'no', there's just... Some things you should know, I guess," Mortimer said and closed his eyes.

"Were you raped?"

"Man, why do people always assume that?"

"Because whenever I try to do anything with you, you start acting like a scared little rabbit."

"Have you looked in a mirror? You're kind of terrifying."

"Women usually like the way I look."

"In case you haven't noticed yet, I'm not a woman. Can I just- just do your nails? This would be a lot easier."

Sabretooth snorted a good-natured chuckle against Mortimer's shoulder, then nuzzled his neck. "You say you're not a woman, then ask to do my nails. That's funny." He pulled away a bit, his hands on Mortimer's sides, splayed along his ribs. "You can if you ask in a way that doesn't make us sound like twelve-year old girls."

"Can I clean and cut your nails so I don't go insane trying to explain my sexual hang-ups to you?" Toad asked through gritted teeth.

"Sure," Victor said, giving a light squeeze before ending the contact entirely. "They'll grow back tomorrow, though."

"That's fine," Mortimer groused, crossing the room to get to the bathroom. "C'mon."

In the bathroom, he gave the blonde a gentle push to sit on the toilet, surprised when he sat willingly. Sabretooth smirked at the bulky kit that was pulled from beneath the sink, and upon noticing his expression, Mortimer sneered back. He grabbed one of Sabretooth's hands as he sat on the edge of the tub.

"Alright, look," he said as he took out a pair of clippers, "this is how it is." He complained to himself as the normal amount of pressure he applied to clip his own nails didn't seem to cut it, literally, with Sabretooth's thick, unkempt ones. He slid off the tub and dug out a pair of toenail clippers and got back to work. "I don't like normal sex.

"It's not because I've been abused or something like that, because I haven't. Not sexually, anyway. I've had... Swabs and shit like that in my, uh, orifices, but that was for science, not for some sick fuck to get his freaky rocks off with me, or something. I mean," he said with a sigh, taking Sabretooth's other hand to cut those nails, "they were still sick fucks, but not sexually. Not to me, anyway."

Sabretooth said nothing as he watched Mortimer take a file and start working his shortened nails into a softer shape. He simply raised a brow and waited for the other to continue.

"I just... I just don't like it, mate. I've done it before. Pissed off a couple of girls because they thought I didn't find them attractive, but it's not that. I just can't keep it up unless I'm being kissed." He filed down the other set of nails and took out a hooked tool to clean the blood and dirt from under the now more shapely nails. "The guys I've been with have been a little bit more understanding because, well, they know that getting fucked in the ass hurts." Sabretooth snorted at that. "So, they were more inclined to do other things."

"Other things?" Sabretooth drawled, cocking his head.

"Oh, hell. Like frotting and oral and- the like," Toad answered, taking out a bottle and a cube that looked like foam rubber.

"The fuck is 'frotting'?" Sabretooth asked, "and what the fuck are you doing now?"

"Frotting is where two guys rub their dicks together, and I'm still cleaning your nails."

"That's so girly," he said, ignoring the first statement entirely.

"Ya know who suggested this?" Mortimer asked, holding up the block. Sabretooth raised a brow. "The boss."

"He cleans his nails with a knife," Sabretooth said.

"Yeah, well, his nails are more normal than ours."

"That's true. So, are you, uh, what's the word? One of those people who don't have sexual urges?"

"Asexual? I don't know," Toad answered, turning back to his work on the other's nails. "I doubt it. I just don't like certain things.

"I'm a bit surprised that you're still here, listening to me," Mortimer admitted on a stuttering breath.

"Well, for one thing, I'm high," Sabretooth said with a snort. "You ever been high? Shit is fascinating when you're stoned. For another, I ain't about to leave with one set of nails all pretty and shit and the other how they usually are. It'll piss me off until I sober up."

"I've been doing both hands with each thing before I move on to the next so you can leave any time you want."

"Maybe I just don't want to leave."

Mortimer didn't know what to say, so he just finished the last of the nails.

"Gonna paint 'em too, princess?"

"Do you want them painted?"

"Holy shit. You have nail polish," Sabretooth said as if it were just about the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Only clear, but if you want color, I'm sure some girl around here would be more than willing to share."

"I was making fun of you, ya know."

"I know. I was ignoring it."

"You put up with way more shit than you should."

"What else am I supposed to do? I'm not as strong as you. I can't just smash in the heads of people who disagree with me. That's why I'm still just a lackey and not even an important figure in this... War." Mortimer muttered as he organized the items in the nail kit and put it away.

"That's not even what I meant, but okay," Sabretooth said, looking at his nails. "Man, I was a kid the last time I saw my nails looking this good."

Mortimer smiled at the indirect praise, hiding the expression behind his hand.

"So, what are we gonna do?"

"Wot d'ya mean?" Toad asked, still hiding his face.

"The next time I get high off of you. We gonna rub willies?"

Mortimer's laughter was so sudden and loud that it startled Victor into a twitch of his shoulders. He glared at the brunette who was still crouched on the tiled floor.

"I was serious," he growled.

"Oh, I know. The way you phrased it just... Surprised me." Toad reached out to put his hands on Sabretooth's knees, and the other spread them, letting him sit between them. There was a long silence as Mortimer knelt there, enjoying the closeness. "If that's what you want and it doesn't lead to you trying to put it in my arse, then sure."

"I can't believe I have to ask you to tell me what you want. You're a grown man," Sabretooth said, threading the fingers of one hand through Mortimer's hair.

"Do you really care?" Mortimer asked the cotton-clad thigh he was pressing his face into.

"When it comes to sex, yeah."

"Never would have thought-" Mortimer's words ended in a whimper when the fingers in his hair curled into a fist and pulled. His head was forced back and he looked up at Sabretooth with wide eyes.

"What. Do. You. Want."

"Ah- let go of my hair, mate."

"Tell me what you want first. I'm starting to sober up, and if you don't behave, I'm going to get pissed off."

"I just want to be held," he whined, "I just want to pretend someone fucking cares for a while. God damn it!" He pulled hard, hissing at the pain on his scalp.

Without a word, Sabretooth stood and, moving his hand to cup the back of Mortimer's head, he pulled the smaller man with him to leave the bathroom. He kicked off his boots and practically threw Toad on his own bed. Sabretooth shed his jacket and roughly pulled off the other's shoes, throwing both across the room. Pushing his hair out of his face, Victor climbed on the bed and lay down next to the trembling form.

"Stop that. I'm not going to fucking hurt you," he growled, pulling the smaller body close. He buried his nose in the other's hair and sighed out his frustration. He slackened the slightest bit when Mortimer cautiously brought his hands up to clutch the white shirt.

"You said we don't get to pretend," Toad reminded, his voice small, wavering. He stank of fear.

"I'm not going to fall in love with you, if that's what you're hoping for. But I do want to see you get strong enough that you don't die," Victor admitted, shaking with barely-restrained rage, feeling like he was forced to put his deepest, most private thoughts out there. Atrophied emotions felt like a limb that had fallen asleep and was being shaken out; prickling, annoying. He regretted his sobriety, and considered scaring Mortimer into sweating to take the edge off of his aggression. "If that's not good enough for you, then, tough shit."

"I'll take it," Mortimer said, burying his face in Sabretooth's chest, curling his arms up against himself.

"You're such a brat," Sabretooth complained, scratching his now short nails up and down the cotton-clad, freckled back.

Mortimer just mewled happily in response.


End file.
